


the preservation of wicked men

by asphodelgrimoire



Series: sinners in the hands of an angry god [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Brief Sex Scenes, Confrontations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harassment, M/M, Misgendering, Past Abuse, Trans Aaron Burr, Trans Male Character, character death (mentioned), please note the lack of (mentioned) beside timothy's name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7897120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodelgrimoire/pseuds/asphodelgrimoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The entire family sits frozen in the living room as the knocking continues for whole minutes. Aaron is so glad they don’t look at him, don’t make him feel like he brought a plague with him when he came to live here. His expression doesn’t crack, but his stomach is tearing itself up and setting the pieces on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the preservation of wicked men

**Author's Note:**

> the abuse is not described in detail, but it is talked about
> 
> and i mean, confrontation with an abuser happens here

The first time he comes to the house, Jon isn’t there.

Aaron is lying in bed with the blankets up around his ribs, reading _War and Peace_ and looking over at the clock every ten minutes. He’s certainly not suffering, but he also certainly likes it better when Jon is home. He’s also picked up the task of recounting the book’s events to Jon, who admitted to him that he hasn’t even touched some of the books he’s bought over the years. Aaron almost got angry about that, thinking in the darkness about how he would have done anything to get his hands on the classics earlier in life, while Jon’s copies were collecting dust.

He then explained that it’s hard for him to read anything that isn’t a textbook, looked at his hands in his lap and sighed. Aaron quickly offered to tell him about what Pierre Bezukhov had accomplished that week, and has been doing so every week since. Jon, although enjoying the sentiment and Aaron’s enthusiasm, much prefers to smother him once they’re in bed. Being around so many people after spending the whole summer inside has to be hard. Although he’s tired, he’s even more heavy-handed with affection than he was during the summer. The house gets colder as autumn sets in, and Jon slithers into bed with him as soon as he’s done studying every day.

Aaron is shocked to realize that now, he takes care of Jon as much as Jon takes care of him. Sometimes, even in the middle of the day, Aaron will sink down into his lap and keep him warm like that, while Jon’s eyes flicker between the open book and where their hips meet. He says that Aaron is getting bold.

He’d like to think that.

Today, Elizabeth is home with a cold, and when he last went into the kitchen for food, she was at the dining room table, watching Netflix on her tablet. Aaron can still hear little sniffles and dramatic music every so often, so she hasn’t moved.

He hears a knock at the door, hard, with a purpose. It’s sudden, but not jarring.

“I’ll get it,” Elizabeth calls weakly. Aaron makes a noise in response and hears the door open. “Who are you?” she asks the visitor, acerbic and to-the-point as always. He doesn’t pay attention to the exchange; whoever it is, their voice is so faint, he doesn’t know if an exchange is going on in the first place.

“Go to _hell,_ ” she hisses, and that gets his attention. Aaron cringes at the slammed door and puts a bookmark in where he’s stopped reading. His stomach sinks when he hears the knocking continue. Padding out to the foyer, he peeks around the hallway’s corner to see Elizabeth punching letters into her phone rapidly.

“Is everything okay?” Aaron asks, despite the obvious answer.

“Actually, yeah, it’s just my ex’s brother. Don’t know how he got my address, we weren’t even that serious,” she says, although the words are laced with anxiety. “David will take care of him if worse comes to worst.”

Aaron purses his lips. She doesn’t seem to want to talk about it, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to confront the guy, but he knows that fear all too well. “Do you want to hang out with me until he goes away?”

Elizabeth’s mouth twitches into a brief, surprised smile. “Yeah, sure.”

When they get back to the room, she continues watching her movie, but now glances up at him with a concerned look every so often. He returns it with a reassuring one, hoping that she’ll never be as scared as he was before he met Jon.

It’s silent at the house until Mr. Bellamy and Jon (who get home at roughly the same time) walk in, and then Elizabeth is scrambling for the door.

“Hey,” Jon greets, but Elizabeth doesn’t return it, and there’s a long pause before he speaks again, this time with dire inflection. “Oh. Okay. That’s fine. I’ll tell him.”

Aaron perks up at the obvious reference to himself, and at shoes clicking down the hallway. Jon walks in with a flat smile, throws his bag down at the foot of the bed. Elizabeth scurries behind him to her room, uncharacteristically nervous, and flashes a guilty look at Aaron.

He has more questions than answers.

“What’s Pierre up to now?” Jon asks first, taking off his coat.

“Becoming a freemason,” Aaron answers hesitantly. He’d usually give a longer explanation, but he feels like something is off.

“Ah,” Jon says, then sits on the bed next to Aaron. He sighs and touches his shoulder gently. “Aaron, Elizabeth told me that Timothy showed up this morning, but that she didn’t want to scare you, so she said it was someone else. I told her that I’d let you know, because you deserve to know that he’s been here. I don’t know why. She said that he asked for someone who wasn’t you and kept knocking after she closed the door. I wanted to tell you that by tonight every person who comes into this house will know what he looks like, and will never let him in. Are there any arrangements I should make?”

Aaron shrinks at the memory of the slamming door now associated with Timothy, nearly bolts after the third sentence. Jon sees it in his face and opens his arms, allowing Aaron to hide in them. Timothy knows where he is. As terrified as he is, he recalls Elizabeth hissing, now attached to the face of his uncle, and realizes that she nearly hit him with the door upon learning his identity. The worried looks were for his sake, not hers. He’s scared, but he knows Jon and his family wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

Still, he sobs and shakes almost relentlessly at the thought of seeing Timothy again. Of even hearing his voice.

“I’m here,” Jon consoles, kissing his cheeks and eyelids. He pulls the sheets up above their heads. “I’m here,” And _God,_ why does his perfect bubble have to get pricked.

 Aaron sobs harder, although he doesn’t know why. The initial dread has already settled to rest in a pit in his stomach. He’s just angry. Timothy showed up in his sacred place, Timothy thought he had the right to knock on the Bellamys’ door, Timothy _spoke_ to Jon’s sister. “What arrangements?” he asks, faint, once he’s able to verbalize the question.

“Whatever you want. We can lock the bedroom door, have David sleep on the couch, file a restraining order, alert the neighborhood watch. You know you’re safe with me, but if you don’t feel safe here, or just need to be alone, we can get a place on campus, or we’ll get you a hotel room, or-“

“No,” he cuts in, even as his voice cracks. “We just painted this room. I’m not leaving. He’s not making me leave. He’s not,” Aaron has books, warm clothes, a teddy bear, one bed, still has some of the sour candies from June- he has Matt and Jon, both- and he refuses to lose it to Timothy. He’s earned this. He isn’t leaving. “I’m safe here,” Aaron says, and he believes it.

Jon pulls him close. “I love you so much. If you change your mind, just let me know. I’m so proud of you, Aaron,” he says. They both lie down, and Aaron closes his eyes. They don’t leave the room until dinner.

At the table, Mr. Bellamy cuts furiously into his steak, while Elizabeth and Sam pick at their food. Aaron feels a little guilty at first, worrying them, but he certainly didn’t ask for Timothy to show up. They have good reasons to be worried. Jon eventually gives up talking about his day to three brick walls and ends up leaving the table early, along with Mr. Bellamy who squeezes Aaron’s shoulder and grumbles something about work before retreating to his office. Sam looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He and Elizabeth are left doing the dishes.

“I’m sorry about earlier, I just didn’t know what to tell you,” she says suddenly, shattering the silence.

“It’s okay, I would have been,” _Inconsolable, petrified,_ Aaron thinks. “Scared if I was told while it was happening,” he says instead. He’s reminded again of the persistent knocking, and how he’s not going to be able to open the door for someone again for a while without expecting to see Timothy.

“Are you scared?” Elizabeth asks, tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s earnest, a bit anxious in itself.

“Yeah,” he answers quietly.

“I’ll punch him in the dick if he shows up again,” she mutters, and Aaron smiles a little. Another, earlier conversation revealed to him how little Jon had told Elizabeth and Sam about what Timothy did to him. He’d only told them that Aaron had been hurt in the past. She told him this, but didn’t ask any questions. At that point, it didn’t seem like she realized the gravity of the situation, but hearing that Aaron is actually scared probably gets the wheels turning in her brain. It’s like with Jon; he never feels pressure to share every last detail, but he also knows that Jon will be wondering about them for a while.

“Timothy is my uncle,” He braces himself, puts his hands on the counter and stares down at it. He can see Elizabeth’s curious, guilty look in the marble reflection, and thinks that maybe talking about it to someone other than Jon might help him. She clearly wants to know, or at least thinks she does. “My sister and I lived with him after our parents and grandparents died. I don’t-“ Aaron lies through his teeth. “I don’t know why he hit us.”

He does know why, and he knows that it’s not a good enough reason.

Elizabeth’s face twists. “He won’t come here anymore,” she says, and Aaron is nearly surprised by her tone. She sometimes snaps at people, but he’s never seen it as angry. Elizabeth usually doesn’t seem to care enough to be truly angry, just irritated. It just sounds like a typical apathetic teenager to him. Matt and his friends were like that too- falsely temperamental, more bark than bite- and in some ways, he thinks that the purpose of it is to give an illusion of difficulty, that nobody will mess with her if she doesn’t care. Now, her words are dark, acrylic nails clicking against the counter, and she looks up at him from under false eyelashes with a kind of bubbling anger that 16 year olds shouldn’t be capable of. 

(He can’t help making comparisons between them. He should be focusing on the words, but all he can think is that looking at her makes him almost miss his long hair, miss the box of scrunchies on his shelf.)

“I hope he doesn’t,” Aaron replies simply, and Elizabeth softens, nods. He heads to the bedroom and is met with the sight of a practically comatose Jon slumped on the mattress, Oxford dress shoes still on his feet. Aaron slips his papers into the textbooks on the floor as bookmarks and arranges them in his bag. The mussed laces look like maybe he tried, but Aaron finishes the job and slips his shoes off. Jon makes a low noise, stirs when Aaron gets his belt off. Even more than half asleep, Jon is able to lift him up, and uses this advantage to position him on his lap. Aaron imagines that they look ridiculous, Jon’s slacks catching on his knees, and Jon himself bending over backwards to stay awake, practically drooling on Aaron’s shoulder. “You need to take your pants off,” he says, and his voice would normally be full of affection, but he can’t muster up anything past monotony.

“I need to keep you safe,” Jon says, not a true response and a nonsensical one at that. He does kick off the pants, but Aaron is already frustrated with him. And he’s angry with himself for that. There’s no reason to be upset with Jon. It’s not his fault that Timothy shows up at a time when he isn’t at home as much, when he’s tired and needs Aaron to be self-sufficient at the least. Still, it’s hard not to be angry at somebody. Jon flops on his back and stares at the ceiling blankly. He looks as lost as Aaron feels. “We’ll do what we have to,” he murmurs, cryptic.

Aaron’s bitterness quells when they finally slip under the blankets, and he lets Jon hold him tighter than he ever has before, blinks back tears when he hears a slurred prayer. When Jon’s voice cracks, Aaron realizes he’s doing the same thing.

Timothy comes again the next week.

The entire family sits frozen in the living room as the knocking continues for whole minutes. Aaron is so glad they don’t look at him, don’t make him feel like he brought a plague with him when he came to live here. His expression doesn’t crack, but his stomach is tearing itself up and setting the pieces on fire.

David curses and pushes himself out of his chair when it persists. “Fucker. He is not doing this to you. I am not letting this happen.”

Aaron stands up with him, expression still blank. “I’ll go with you.”

A unanimous, panicked protest echoes around the room.

“He is not touching you ever again,” David argues.

“He won’t,” Aaron says. “I’ll stay back. He won’t touch me in front of other people. He just bargains,” In the back of his mind, he wants to stab the part of him generating a false bravado, especially when Sam covers his mouth like he’s about to throw up. There’s no reason to go with him. There’s not a single reason why he couldn’t just stay locked in the bathroom with Jon while David threatens Timothy, who would then be a safe distance from him. “I’ll go.”

David starts again, incredulous. “But you can’t-“

Jon stands up behind Aaron. “Yes he can. He’s going with you if that’s what he wants to do,” he says, stern and unyielding. David looks at him with a mix of betrayal and admiration in his eyes.

“Okay,” he replies, and he sounds so stunned that it’s almost comical. “Okay.”

Aaron, despite still wanting to swallow his tongue so he never suggests anything that stupid ever again, doesn’t regret it so much. He knows he’ll come out of this physically unscathed, and isn’t that all he can expect? He follows David down the hall and stops at the dining room.

He thinks there’ll be some sort of countdown, some preparation, but the door opens before Aaron can even get to nine.

“Do you think I won’t call the fucking cops on you?” David barks, and Aaron watches, static, hoping that he’ll be able to hear and see Timothy’s reaction without the vice versa being possible. He hopes the doorway becomes a one-way window. It doesn’t.

Timothy is about to respond when he spots Aaron’s silhouette, and they meet eyes. He can’t breathe, and yet Timothy is the one with wide eyes. He’d like to say that it’s satisfying, but it’s happened before, and it doesn’t mean anything at all. The disheveled appearance is for pity, and Aaron has seen it too many times before to think anything has changed. “Look, Charlotte, I-“

Aaron recoils at the name, but keeps eye contact, keeps his expression unfazed even as he steps backward and retreats. Timothy always knows when he’s upset, anyway; by now, he’s just trying to minimize the damage. When he tries to go through the doorway, David is there to shove him clean off the porch. “Don’t say a word to him.”

“Wait,” Timothy says, and he doesn’t. The door shuts. They go back to the living room, and Timothy doesn’t knock again. At this point, the entire family understands why his uncle was asking for _Charlotte_ rather than _Aaron._ He had a feeling that Sam and Elizabeth didn’t know, but as it turns out, Rebecca and Lucy were also unaware. His embarrassment nearly swallows up his hurt, but not quite.

Aaron thinks this might be the end of it, and although that’s what he’s always wanted, he doesn’t really want this to be the end of it. He doesn’t want the last image Timothy has of him to be a frightened face hiding behind a wall. He knows he has good reason to be frightened. That doesn’t make it sting his pride any less.

Later that night, he hears David and Rebecca talking while Jon is taking a shower.

“If I killed this Edwards guy, do you think God would forgive me?” David asks, sardonic.

Rebecca replies, but her tone is lighter. “No, but I would help hide the body anyway. Good fertilizer.”

David doesn’t laugh. Instead, he sighs, audibly shaking out a blanket to lay on the couch. “Becca, he doesn’t even deserve to be buried.”

“You’re right. Let the pigs get him,” she suggests. She sighs as well. “I know it’s serious. I saw that look just as well as you did. I just don’t know what else we can do. He knocks again, and we call the police, and then hopefully it’ll be over.”

“I know. I don’t want a restraining order though. I want Aaron and Jon to never have to think about him ever again,” David admits. Rebecca clicks her tongue and pats him on the back.

“You’re a good man, Charlie Brown,” she says, and that elicits a snort from him. “But even a sap with a heart of gold like you can’t fix what’s already been done. I just hope that in the future, the thought of him won’t be as nerve-wracking for Aaron as it is now, you know?”

He doesn’t hear anything else, and when a sweet-smelling, damp Jon joins Aaron in bed, he doesn’t care about the conversation so much. The family is so good to him; he thinks about it all the time. But right now, more than that, he horrifyingly considers Timothy’s death. It isn’t about revenge, more of a symbolic death than anything. Aaron just wants him gone, and he lets that thought plague him even while Jon is rubbing against him protectively like a cat. He hates that he can’t just let it go.

He hates that every night this week, he’s asked Jon to make him let it go. In truth, he only asked for sex the first Saturday; Jon has asked him all the other days. It’s just that he always says yes. Tonight, when Jon ducks his head under the comforter to work Aaron’s boxers down, he is stopped by a hand around his wrist.

“We don’t have to,” Jon tells him, like he doesn’t already know that. Aaron sits up.

“Lay back?” he says, and it’s first and foremost a question, one which is answered when Jon relaxes onto the sheets. He’s been so busy and exhausted and worried for this past week, he deserves some sort of respite. Aaron thinks about sucking him off properly, but he doesn’t think it would serve his purpose. Instead, he swallows Jon down to the root and stays there until he can’t think of anything else. Jon watches with a small smile, and Aaron meets his gaze.

When he comes, it’s quiet. Jon presses a hand to Aaron’s stomach, questioning, and drops it when he shakes his head. He doesn’t need reciprocation this time. Just wants to be held. Jon understands, his fingers feather-light at the base of Aaron’s neck.

His mind is quiet.

They’re both asleep within minutes.

Timothy shows up a third time, two weeks later, on a Sunday. Aaron is struggling to spear a potato wedge on his fork when there’s a knock at the door. Elizabeth is at the end of the table, so she nods and stands to get it. Aaron, out of paranoia, can suspect who it is, but he also suspects that he’ll be thinking about Timothy every time somebody knocks for months in the future.

“Oh God,” she says, looking through the peephole. “It’s that guy again.”

Aaron, surprisingly, is more irked than anything.

“Who do we have to sue?” Rebecca asks, rhetorical and woeful.

“We’re calling the police this time. He just isn’t getting it,” David shakes his head and stands. “For fuck’s sake.”

Aaron doesn’t say anything, but he stands too, fork clattering on his plate. Elizabeth has moved away from the door and back to the table with a disgusted look. He grimaces at her, but stays silent, and walks to the entryway.

“Aaron,” David says uncertainly, like a warning, watching him.

He undoes the latch and opens the door without hesitation.

Timothy is surprised to see him, maybe even more surprised to see him vexed. “Charlotte-“

“It’s Aaron, thank you. What do you want? You’re interrupting my meal,” he replies, the lack of emotion in his voice apparently disconcerting to Timothy, who thrives off fear.

He puts a hand on Aaron’s shoulder and squeezes hard enough to bruise. “Are you quite alright? What have-“

“Don’t touch me,” Aaron says, grabbing his uncle’s wrist and digging his nails in mercilessly.

Timothy opens his mouth, keeps his hand where it is- perhaps trying to wait Aaron out, thinking that one of them will give, and it certainly won’t be him. He’s wrong. His self-preservation skills kick in as they always do, when Aaron puts his weight into it. He rips his arm out of Aaron’s grip and holds it to his chest, wounded.

“What do you want?” Aaron repeats.

“I just wanted-“ He cuts himself off, expecting to be interrupted. He isn’t. For the first time, Timothy is the one who doesn’t know what to anticipate, the one who’s kept guessing. “I wanted to see how you were.”

Aaron laughs, genuine, albeit harsh. This further cements the uncomfortable look on Timothy’s face. “Alright, okay, now you’ve seen me. I’m alive and well. I’m going to go back to eating dinner now, okay? Is that okay?” He weighs the consequences of asking for permission, but once the words are out of his mouth, Timothy’s brows furrowing at the mockery of his usually-enjoyed control over situations, Aaron thinks about provoking him more.

He thinks Timothy is going to hit him, sees in his peripheral vision that at least William isn’t in viewing range, and he’s conflicted. Aaron doesn’t want Jon, or Sam, or Elizabeth- any of them- to have to see this. At the same time, he almost doesn’t mind after imagining his uncle slowly realizing that he doesn’t have power over Aaron anymore, when his face remains blank after being struck.

Timothy doesn’t hit him, and ultimately, he’s happy with that. Jon truly doesn’t need any more stress than he’s already probably endured just watching the exchange.

“Rhoda was just wondering why you weren’t at Matthias’ funeral,” Timothy lies.

Aaron should have expected that, but he didn’t, and the mask slips for a second. “Oh,” he says, and leans against the doorframe so his knees don’t give out. He can’t tell if Timothy notices the change or not. “You can tell her I forgot.”

Timothy balks, genuine enough for Aaron to wonder if maybe he really believes it.

He apologizes to Matt internally for the disrespect, no matter how false it may be.

“Oh. I won’t bother you anymore then, uh,” He searches for something else to say, some other way to stall. He doesn’t find it.

“You do that,” Aaron smiles tightly and closes the door in his face, satisfied with getting what he hopes to be the last word.

He turns back, dreading the looks he’ll be getting for the next few weeks. David and Mr. Bellamy just seem shocked. Most every other Bellamy has an indiscernible expression. Jon, wearing his heart on his sleeve as he always does, goes to him and squeezes him in a tight hug, like he thought Timothy was going to kill him.

“That was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen in my _whole life,_ ” Elizabeth says, somewhere between manic and delighted.

Aaron would be flattered, but he doesn’t feel badass; he mutters a ‘thanks’ over Jon’s shoulder anyway. He feels like he needs to sleep, immediately. He almost wants to drag Jon to bed and not even finish his food, but Aaron knows he’ll be hungry later, so he sits back down and can’t even feel bad about the silence around him. Jon doesn’t say a word to him, but has an arm around him throughout the rest of dinner. Aaron can tell Jon isn’t angry with him, and he guesses that the rest of the family just doesn’t know how to react. The exchange itself wasn’t that jarring, but the context must make it tense for them. He himself is mostly detached from any range of emotions he could be having, and can’t empathize.

When he and Jon are done eating, David stops him as he heads into the hallway and opens his mouth several times before giving up on words. He hugs Aaron, different from Jon, awkward and tense, but just as tight. This time, Aaron knows he doesn’t have to feel bad. David is one of the reasons why he confronted Timothy. David is the makeshift parent he deserved. He hugs back, then retreats to join Jon in their room.

Everything is so quiet.

Jon is already lying down when he comes in, staring at the ceiling again. There’s tension in his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says, and he is. Sorry that he ruined Sunday dinner, sorry that he worried Jon so much.

“There’s no reason to be,” Jon sits up quickly, wraps his arms around Aaron’s waist and looks up at him, hard. “I said we’d do what we had to do. That’s what you did. I’m not upset. I was scared, of course, but not upset with you,” he says, and he runs his thumb over Aaron’s knuckles. “Never.”

“I don’t think he’s coming back,” he responds, but it’s not the response he wants to give. He wants to give everything to Jon.

“Come here?” And Aaron sits on his lap. Jon hooks a finger on the neckline of his sweater and pulls it over his shoulder. He carefully inspects where Timothy gripped him, and shrugs. It might not bruise. Jon kisses the spot, so sweet, and he never bites, but Aaron can feel his teeth when he laves over it. He doesn’t mind one bit. “Is there anything he said that upset you?”

“He called me Charlotte,” By now, it’s more something of an annoyance rather than something that breaks his heart. But today, there’s something about all of his family members hearing it that makes his stomach churn.

Jon nods, resting his chin on Aaron’s shoulder. “Well, _you_ know that _I_ know you aren’t Charlotte.”

Aaron laughs, choking back a sob. He was so disconnected by the time Timothy had gotten a word out, and now he’s left with his thoughts and Timothy’s voice in his head. “And- when he said- about Matt-“

“You said whatever you needed to get him to go away,” Jon soothes, and Aaron appreciates the reassurance- it helps, a little- but he’s crying now, and he’d like to be comforted in other ways. He doubts Jon would agree to do anything sexual with him when he’s so emotional, but that isn’t his goal anyway. Aaron just needs to be held. “You’re safe though, and you did it by yourself.”

“I don’t want to anymore,” Aaron’s shoulders shake even as Jon wraps around him.

“You don’t have to now, never had to, but you did. He isn’t coming back.”

As they lie down, as he sniffs and sobs, as Jon mouths at his neck gingerly, he realizes what that means. Aaron himself got Timothy out of his life. He has support, always, but he was the one to undo that latch. He isn’t as helpless as he sometimes thinks he is.

He says all of this aloud to Jon, who nods, his eyes closed. “You’re stronger than you know,” he replies sagely, and pulls Aaron to his chest. He thumbs the tears away, but otherwise remains unconcerned, humming a melody as he tucks the blankets in, around Aaron’s shoulders. “Let’s go out tomorrow,” Jon says. He’s nearly slurring. “To Mystic.”

“Okay,” Aaron humors him, and he does want to go back to Mystic, with only Jon, in cooler weather.

“Seafood. Dinner. First date.” Jon notes, and then drifts off.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. “Alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> so that happened
> 
> yell at me @ transaaronburr.tumblr.com


End file.
